


How fast you fall

by Apricot_Writes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anorexia, Anorexic Lance (Voltron), Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Gen, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Langst, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, a little bit ooc just a little, body checking, self projecting onto cartoons aaay, the other paladins are kind of jerks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22871104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apricot_Writes/pseuds/Apricot_Writes
Summary: Lance has an eating disorder.(Single reference to drug use tw)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 107





	How fast you fall

The thing about eating disorders is that you don’t realize how fast you fall.

Just a few weeks ago, not more than two months, Lance could remember laughing during dinner. He could remember eating without a care, eating normally. That word seemed so foreign now. He had his favourite foods, ice cream and garlic knots, and longed to return to the colourful flavours of all the places he’d visited. That was before Keith had to open his mouth.

The paladins had one of their rare nights off, and took the opportunity to relax and spend some quality time with each other in the form of a movie night. Pidge (possibly illegally? No, no, definitely illegally) downloaded a Disney movie, Hunk made industrial size quantities of nachos, and everyone else dragged their sheets off of their beds and made the comfiest blanket pile in the history of blanket piles. Coran tacked a sheet to the wall to act as a projector screen. Everyone got snuggled up against each other, badly singing along to the songs they knew by heart while stuffing their faces with food. It was good.

Until it wasn’t good.

“Hey, slow down! We’re supposed to be sharing this tray, ‘n you’ve eaten like, half of them.” Keith nudged Lance in the side, grabbing a handful of chips smeared in cheese.

“I have not! It was Allura.” Lance defended.

“Nah it was totally you.”

“You’re guilty, dude.”

“You do eat a lot,” Pidge laughed, curled up in Hunks side. “Might wanna slow down.” She joked.

Lance felt his face heat up, pursing his lips as he thought of a comeback. His brain decided it wanted to take a break as well, and the blue paladin couldn’t come up with anything. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to come up with anything. So he laid back into his pillow (Shiro) and stared at the movie screen.

“I haven’t noticed Lance eating anymore than all of you.” Shiro said sternly, he pat Lance’s head in comfort.

Pidge snorted, “That’s because you have your own private plate, your royal majesty highness king.” Everyone laughed, Lance included, as Shiro put his arm up in defeat. “

Well, I guess that’s one point towards the lactose intolerant.” He was quiet for a moment. “God, I miss cheese.”

After a night of a little bit of movie watching and a lot of laughing, Lance grabbed his pillows and blankets and said goodnight. As he walked along the empty corridors, listening to the ending credits of the movie slowly fade into the distance, he heard a little voice. A hushed, whispered voice; if he had been stepping any more heavily, or had been any closer to the speakers he wouldn’t have heard it.

Fat.

The word, previously just an adjective, held a new meaning in his head. He opened the door to his room, threw his comforter on the bed and headed to the bathroom to do his beauty and skincare routine. For the first time since, well, ever, his eyes landed on the little bathroom scale tucked away under a cabinet. He pulled it out, brushed off ten thousand years worth of dust, and stepped on.

68kg.

He wasn’t too sure how he felt about that. It wasn’t a good feeling, or a bad feeling, but he did feel something about that number on the scale. And he only knew that he didn’t feel anything before that night. But now he did.

@@@

Lance had a mission. Everyone was right, he did eat a lot. Cookies, snacks stolen from the kitchen, seconds at almost every meal. And after minimal research, he found out he was probably almost overweight. Maybe not. But it didn’t matter, he just wasn’t as thin as he could be. That knowledge only kick started his weight-loss, and then his weight obsession. Quite literally overnight he became entirely focused on getting his weight down. ‘It’s to be healthy,’ he told himself, ‘I just want to be healthy.’ And what better way to be healthy than to be as far away as possible from being overweight?

And it was easy for him to tell that lie to herself. ‘Healthy’ became his life. It started off, as many bad things do, good. Small alterations to his dinner plate; he exchanged one of his greasy chicken wings for an extra scoop of veggies. The standard paladin breakfast of eggs, ham, and toast was replaced with yogurt and fruit. He was on the rise. But, alas, the rule states that whatever goes up must come down.

Newton is a bitch.

Lance crashed hard. And much like an 8 year old riding a bike for the first time, there’s no way to stop until you smash. Break. Fall. Breakfast disappeared, lunch followed soon after. The back end of a toothbrush would coax most of dinner out of his stomach, diet pills would take care of the rest.

The cherry on top was when Coran took him aside during training. Lance’s stomach dropped three floors to the basement with a ‘ding’, and he knew he was done for. Coran was going to yell and scream and shout and stick a tube down his throat and kick him off the-

“You’ve done amazing recently in training,” the older Altean praised, cutting off Lance’s train of thought, “I’ve noticed you eating better too. Keep it up!”

Keep it up.

Keep it up when he would have a bowl of ice for breakfast. Keep it up when he would stick his fingers down his throat after lunch. Keep it up when he spit every bite of dinner into an opaque water bottle. Keep it up when he cried himself to sleep every night. Keep it up when black spots danced across his vision if he stood up too fast. Keep it up when he took apart an old razor and held the blade to his thighs. Good job Lance. Keep it up. Keep. It. Up.

@@@

Life continued this way. He would skip meals, train until he blacked out, sleep, and repeat. He yawned, his alarm clock ringing its morning tune. He dragged himself out of bed and threw his pyjamas in the hamper. He stretched and pulled on his favourite pair of jeans- and they slid right back off. Lances eyes lit up, his breath caught in the back of his throat. He let them fall off his legs as he excitedly ran to the scale.

63.5kg

And suddenly, he was standing in an arena- cheering fans on all sides. They shouted and clapped, ‘Lance! Lance! He lost over four kilos! Can you imagine being as great as Lance?” A medal was draped around his neck, the words ‘in control’ engraved on the solid gold. It was bright and flashing, thunderous loud cheering echoed through his head. Cameras flashed, everybody loved him, they picked him up and lifted him over their heads. It felt euphoric; it was euphoria, was a heroin filled syringe and Lance was a desperate guy at a frat party. And it was all great and wonderful until that voice came back again, snaking through and infecting his thoughts like the plague.

Four? Just four? Oh come on, boy, we can do better than that…

And suddenly he was back in his bathroom, standing on the scale in front of the floor length mirror. He inhaled a shaky breath, watching as his fantasy disappeared around the edges of his vision. It dripped from his eyes in the form of tears, cascading down his face. Now he was in the present, staring into his reflection with more tears welling up in his eyes, waiting for the signal to go. He sniffled, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before the tears could fall themselves. Every ounce of accomplishment and happiness that he had felt just moments before was gone, instead replaced by self hatred.

This doesn’t change the fact that you’re still the fat one.

63 kilos? Oh please, I bet Keith only weighs 60.

It’s not good enough.

You’re not good enough!

You'll never be good enough until you're thin!

The tears fell faster than Lance could wipe them away. Shakily, he stepped off the scale and turned to the sink; gripping the porcelain as if his life depended on it. “Breathe, Lance. Breathe.” He told himself, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and pulled on the jeans. He reached for a belt and pulled it taught around his waist. Even the extra holes he poked in the leather weren't tight enough.

That was warning sign number one.

Oh, God, Lance wished he would have stopped there.


End file.
